


Hazel

by wavesketcher



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavesketcher/pseuds/wavesketcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel has been a puppet in Rumplestiltskin's game for longer than she can remember. This is her story. And Regina's- like mother like daughter, I suppose. Told from Hazel's perspective, this is a tale of family and the shattering consequences of one's past. (Eventual Swan Queen).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so let’s imagine EVERYTHING in season four has happened and that Emma did sacrifice herself for Regina but she didn’t become the Dark One. Storybrooke is peaceful, until an unexpected visitor transforms their world. (This will be Swan Queen eventually but it is more of a Regina tale).

“Ticket please.”

I glance up at the man whose hand is in front of my nose. He is quite a big guy with a balding head and a green fleece adorned with several tacky badges. _Brian_ , his name tag reads. Outside, the landscape seems to stretch to infinity. It’s liberating as we whoosh past tree after tree after tree:  the trees that can only watch and never **go**.

“Miss, I need your ticket,” he grumbles, jabbing a chubby finger at his largest badge- ‘No ticket, no seat’. Wow, original.

I sigh and feign fumbling around in my coat pocket , a flustered look plastering my face as I mumble some lie about leaving it in my luggage. Not that I have any. His eye brow raises a fraction and I suppress a giggle, suddenly seeing an egg asking me for a ticket I was never going to have.

“Alright, enough of this. Do you have a ticket or not?”

“Er…”

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But… I’m only seventeen and I don’t know where to-“

He stops me short, grabbing me by the collar and marching me to the door. Every other passenger averts their gaze and I resist the urge to shout at them- for _anyone_ to NOTICE ME. The coach halts and I’m gone: discarded like a piece of litter.

It’s raining. I shrug my rucksack on tighter and watch as the vehicle blurs in to a haze of droplets. There are not even any trees here.

And I’m not surprised. I’ve never lived a normal life; it’s like the universe is intent on chucking as much crap as it can find at a messed up teenager. Someone must have loved me once, a mother. A father? _Someone_. No one is that lonely.

Except me. There’s no sugar coating being the care kid. The care kid without care. I sigh and allow the weather to coat my entirety, the smell of rain reminding me of a nostalgia I never had. Sometimes I like to weave my own memories; a family at Christmas dinner, a night out with friends, a hug. I’ve always lived for the possibility, the hope, that one day something _amazing_ is going to happen.

But I closed that book of fairy tales the moment I realised there was no one on the other side.

I walk for hours. Literally hours. Just me and the rain and the odd lonely tree. I begin to entertain myself with wild fantasies of alternate universes: a world where I’m not about to give up on life; a world where I have more family than I can know what to do with; a world where I live happily ever after. Urgh. I’m so pathetic sometimes it’s no wonder I am how I am. I carry on all the same, painting the perfect portrait, envisaging my first argument with my mother, my curfew, a boyfriend-

And then there’s a sign.

‘Welcome to Storybrooke’.

And I head towards it. There’s something compelling about this unknown place and its battered sign…

Soon enough, I begin to see the outskirts of a small town. Little pools of light emanate from the soft glow of the houses, dusk magnifying their warmth. Houses begin emerging in greater abundance as I continue and suddenly I’m standing at the foot of Main Street, an aggregation of buildings trimming either side of the road. I pass shop after shop until one in particular catches my eye: Granny’s Diner. I dig my hand in to my back pocket, relieved to find several small coins.

Granny’s is a buzz with town folk, laughing together in booths or flirting skilfully by the juke box machine. However, _every single_ face in this diner directs their focus on me as I push open the door. I blush furiously, willing _anything_ to happen but this. I’m a mess. My shoulder length hair hangs in messy clumps atop of my soaked denim jacket, my shoes are caked in mud and grass and I have no doubt that my mascara is trailing down my cheek in a black tear.

“Hiya!” a bright and bubbly welcome breaks my stupor. I turn to see a smiling brunette wearing an apron and tight jeans. “I’m Ruby,” she grins reaching out to shake my hand. I take it gratefully and she ushers me over to the stools by the counter. As if on cue, every stare dissipates and the high pitched chatter returns. I sigh.

“Sorry about that,” Ruby laughs, “Welcome to Granny’s! What can I get you?”

I drag out the change from my pocket shyly, embarrassed by my evident lack of wealth. Ruby grins again and takes the coins, “How about a hot chocolate? The rest is on me.” And with a wink she whirls around, busying herself with coco powder and milk.

Relaxing, I shake off my wet ridden jacket and begin to comb through my hair with my fingers, separating the tangles in to smaller clumps.

“Hey, Ruby,” a younger voice chimes, as the door to Granny’s opens again. A teenage boy of about fourteen chucks his coat on the hanger and gives a shy little wave towards the brunette.

“Hey, Henry. Coco?”

“Duh,” he grins, earning a laugh from the brunette.

“Where’s Emma?” Ruby asks as she squirts an unhealthy amount of cream in to my mug. Henry turns to look at me and attempts to supress a gasp. He opens his mouth to say something when the door opens _again_ and a blonde lady in a beanie begins unzipping her coat.

“I’m here!” she exclaims, ruffling the kid’s hair. I find myself smiling.

“Mom, look!” Henry hisses, gesturing towards me in disbelief. Emma rolls her eyes and grins at me apologetically.

“Sorry about my obnoxious son,” she sighs playfully, giving him a light slap on the shoulder.

Henry rubs it and pouts, “I’m not obnoxious!”

“Here you go, honey,” Ruby interjects, placing the steaming mug on the placemat in front of me.

“Coco….” Henry breathes enviously and Emma and Ruby share a knowing glance as the blonde drags out several bills to pay for Henry’s own. “You know what would make it even better,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly at the end (poor kid is obviously still experiencing puberty changes).

“What?”

The kid smiles and he’s all dimples and freckles as he grabs the cinnamon shaker and sprinkles it on my mug like snow. I smile at him weakly and bring it to my lips. Damn. Okay, this kid’s good.

“Better?” he grins smugly, and I can’t tear my eyes away from his because I swear to you- they literally shine.

“Not bad,” I shrug in reply but my insides are melting. Henry’s grin widens as he takes a sip of his own coco, the cream lightly frosting his upper lip. It’s pretty cute and I suppress a giggle as his tongue juts out to trying and catch the froth.

“I see your coco has been revolutionised by cinnamon too,” Emma laughs as she slides in to the seat beside me, leaving me sandwiched between mother and son. And it feels so _good_. 

I nod and take another sip as she laughs, her blonde hair trailing in loose waves as she shakes her head. She clicks her fingers at Ruby who rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “Rubes! One for me please, I’m feeling left out,” Emma pouts, gesturing towards mine and Henry’s rapidly diminishing mug. Henry cringes at his mother, looking to me for help and suddenly I don’t want anything more than to stay in this sleepy little town with the blonde mother and the dimply boy.

“What’s your name,” Henry asks suddenly, narrowing his eyes at me in concentration as if trying to suss out if I’m a lie or not. I don’t even know myself.

“Hazel,” I reply with a light laugh, gauging his reaction. His eyes open even wider, dancing with _something_ that I cannot seem to pin point.

“Okay. Cool.”

And it’s acceptance. And I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“I love that name,” Emma begins as her index finger traces circles in the overflow of chocolate on the counter, “Who are you Hazel?”

What? I falter and turn to Henry for help only to be met with the same placid expression. Maybe this is some kind of ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ initiation. “Hazel. I’m 17 years old and-“

“Nooooooo. She means like _what_ are you! You know,” the kid pauses and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. My expression mutates in to an even greater degree of quizzical.

“I’m sorry I don’t understand….”

Emma smiles and places a hand over mine. I flinch instinctively before accepting the gesture, relishing in the warmth of human contact. “Are you like…erm…. a fairy?”

Confused. So very confused.

“Oh okay! A pixie then?”

“No Mom! Hazel’s a royal, definitely,” Henry interjects excitedly.

“Is this some kind of game?” I ask tentatively, dumbfounded by the pair’s sudden madness.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. We have all sorts here,” Ruby grins, leaning over the counter to take my drained mug. I stare at the flecks of chocolate gripping on to the porcelain.

“Yeah Ruby’s a werewolf!” Henry exclaims proudly, earning a wink in his direction from the ‘werewolf’ herself.

Okay, a game. Cool. I’ll play along.

“I’m a vampire,” I say mysteriously, pleased at the look of horror that it elicits on Henry’s face. Ruby looks pretty impressed too and I silently thank Twilight for that inspiration.

“Woah. I didn’t even know they were in the Enchanted Forest! You’re not dangerous are you?”

“Only if you irritate me,” I say flippantly and Emma guffaws.

“Kid, chill. She’s not going to suck your blood,” the blonde laughs, leaning over me to ruffle Henry’s already messy hair.

“Where have you been all this time, Hazel? Did you come with the second curse?” Ruby asks seriously, settling down to rest her head on her hands as she stares at me intensely. Henry and Emma follow suit and I can feel my cheeks blossoming in to their favourite red hue.

“Er yeah, I did?”

The three seem to ponder over my answer for a second before Emma says, “You have no idea what we’re on about do you?”

“Well it’s a game, right? Ruby’s a werewolf, I’m a Vampire…. Right?”

“Hazel. Where did you come from?”

And her tone is serious enough to make me duck my head in shame. Shame for what, I have no idea?

“Boston,” is all I can say in response.

Emma takes a very swift intake of breath and pulls away from the counter, grabbing Henry by his collar as she does so. They move away from me whispering and suddenly I’m in 6th grade trying to keep a brave face as insults get chucked my way. I’m just another piece of litter that needs to be disposed of. Taking this as my cue to leave, I shrug on my jacket and yank my rucksack from under my seat. Ruby eyes me wearily as I push open the door, desperate to be anywhere but here.

“Wait!” Emma shouts but I don’t turn round. I keep walking to destination I-don’t-care.

“Hazel, wait!” Henry’s voice is reaching for me now and I falter at the use of my name. There’s something so captivating about being addressed to directly. But I still don’t turn round. I have to get out of here, out of the sleepy town that will never accept me because I don’t belong anywhere- and no amount of cinnamon can change that.

“Hazel!”

They are frantic now as they pick up the pace behind me. Why do they care? I wouldn’t.

“Hazel,” Emma’s hand places atop of my shoulder, gently turning me to face her. I search her eyes but I see only concern. Maybe even compassion? The latter thought is quickly assuaged. “Hazel, please don’t go! I’m sorry, we just haven’t ever had someone… like you…. in this town before. We don’t get many visitors.” She struggles with the words.

“You’re hiding something,” I snap back, fed up of this stupid _stupid_ world.

Emma sighs, “Yes. Yes we are but we will reveal it to you, I promise. I just… I need you to come with me… to meet someone.”

“I can’t. I have somewhere to be- I need to go.”

“No you don’t.”

I blink at her.

“You’re on the run. Believe me, I am all too familiar with what that looks like… and feels like. You don’t have anywhere to go except with me.”

She eases my bag off my shoulder before handing it to Henry who gracefully slides it on to his own back. Emma outstretches her hand towards me, beckoning me to follow. These people are so weird. But intriguing… so I follow.

Henry is all too eager to point out various Storybrooke landmarks as we walk. There’s the clock tower which until recently has been trapped in time (the kid is quite the dramatic story teller) and then there’s Mr Gold’s pawn shop (a very dangerous place indeed) and then lastly the Mills’ mansion.

“Woah,” I breathe as my eyes drink in the immaculate bushes trimming the perimeter. “Who lives here?”

“That would be the infamous Madame Mayor,” Emma chuckles nudging Henry playfully in the ribs. The kid seems all too happy to run towards the door and knock three times without hesitation.

There is a long pause, in which I notice Emma holds her breath, then the mansion door opens and a brunette woman emerges- probably late thirties- in a tight fitting blazer, oozing regality yet something softer as well. Henry attacks her shoulders in a warm hug, and to my surprise she sinks in to the embrace.

“I’ve missed you Mom,” he says just loudly enough for me to hear. Mom? Now I’m really confused. Emma seems to sense my puzzlement and places another hand on my shoulder reassuringly.

“I’ll explain it all later kiddo,” she whispers before locking eye contact with Henry’s _other mother_?

“Emma,” the brunette breathes, releasing her son and smoothing down her hair. “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t seem angry though. More like pleasantly surprised; maybe even happy.

“Hi,” Emma begins awkwardly, blushing a little through her blonde locks. _Interesting_. “Regina, there’s someone I need you to meet.” She pushes me a little in the direction of the doorway and I stumble on the gravel, reddening furiously under the older woman’s intrigued gaze. I’m always so _clumsy_. People in the home used to tell me that. The boys used to put objects around my room and watch through the key hole as I’d trip and stutter amongst the Lego. But it isn’t just kid’s toys, is it? I stumble over everything. Over life.

“Who are you,” Regina snaps though there is apprehension laced between the asceticism.

I open my mouth to begin the same spiel I tell everyone but this time Henry comes to my rescue. “She’s called Hazel, Mom. She comes from,” he lowers his voice dramatically, “out there.”

“I can see that,” Regina hums disapprovingly. I gulp. Damn this woman is scary. Her gaze raises above me to rest on Emma and the two appear to have a conversation through dilation for several seconds before Regina opens her door wider and beckons me in.

* * *

 

The interior reminds me of an ice palace: very regal yet incredibly cold. I shiver just standing in the hall way and Emma laughs at me. Regina rolls her eyes but there is no malice. _Interesting_. Henry kicks off his shoes, earning a tutt and a supressed giggle from his contrasting _mothers,_ and pulls me in to the living room where a game console is wired up to a plasma screen. Emma and Regina follow suit, the latter standing a comfortable distance for examination as she positions herself on a chair directly opposite. It is wildly intimidating and for the second time I gulp. Seemingly unfazed, Emma jumps on the couch beside Henry and pats the seat next to her. I sit.

“Hazel, how did you find Storybrooke?” Regina begins, narrowing her eyes at me suspiciously. I am almost tempted to make a joke about an interrogation light.

“I don’t know… it just came in to view. I was walking-“

“Walking where?”

“I don’t know I was just-“

“How do you not know where you were walking to?”

“Regina….” Emma’s warning tone does little to shake the brunette.

“I don’t know I was-“

“Stop saying I don’t know! We need to know!”

Regina is blazing now. Henry tries to calm her with a firm squeeze and I _swear_ I see a tiny purple spark erupt from her fingers.

“Why do you need to know?” I snap back, angered by _everything_.

“Because…. Because you don’t belong here!”

And I clamp my mouth shut. Emma growls at Regina but I don’t hear the stupid woman’s response because I’m off, tearing through the hallway only to be met with a locked door. Shit. I pivot and race upstairs, praying for a window, anything to help me escape. Then again, how can one escape life?

No one calls after me this time. I don’t care. I learned that a shielded heart lasts the longest years ago.

“Hazel.”

“Stop coming after me, Emma! You can’t give me a promise of… of this and then take it away! I’m fed up of people pretending that they want me when they don’t.” It comes out as a choked sob and I hate myself for it, grabbing chunks of my hair in exasperation.

“Hazel, it’s not Emma”.

It’s not Emma. It’s Regina. And I’m standing in front of her, ridden with tears, as her eyes try to understand something she will _never_ be able to.

“Go away,” I mumble lamely, running my sleeve across my face to try as I try to maintain some dignity.

Regina takes a step closer. When she speaks her voice is softer than I have ever heard it before, “Hazel. I’m going to ask you something and I really need you to answer honestly. Do you think you can do that?”

I nod.

Regina cradles my limp hands in hers; delicate yet so very _strong_. And I need as much stability as I can muster. Her brown eyes find my own and she leans ever closer, whispering so that it is only me and her in this _horrible_ world, “Do you believe in magic?”

* * *

 

_The Queen sits atop of her bed, hair a tangle of regality and something **else**. Something only **she** knows. She takes a delicate hand to her brow and messages her temples in quiet disbelief. Everything is too **tight** and Regina pushes open her corset to breathe. She cradles the tiny piece of  paper in her hand as if it were a baby, ironically, I suppose it is. Hers. _

_She’s never had anything of her own before. The crown isn’t even hers, not really. She is a broken queen trapped in the shadow of revenge; ruled by the belief that only **more** death will patch her up again.  But…. Now she has a **life** to call her own- a tiny **thing** that warrants something as precious and rare as unconditional love. _

_And she **will** love her because she is **hers** and something no one can deny her of. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Here you go.”

Emma places a grilled cheese on the placemat in front of me. I observe the way the two slabs of bread sandwich together to create a crevice and push the pools of golden cheese that trim the sheer drops on either side, as if to make a path for freedom yet fail miserably under the weight of the crust. I’m beginning to question my sanity.

“Kid, you gotta eat,” Emma says carefully, pushing the plate closer towards me in a desperate attempt to drag my wilted brain back to reality. I glance up at Regina and marvel at the change in her expression; what once was harsh and weary has now adopted a softer even affectionate appearance, much like one would give a dejected puppy. Strangely though, it is just as disconcerting as the previous. I guess I’m unfamiliar with compassion.

“Okay, Hazel. What we are about to tell you is the whole hearted truth. There really is no point in doubting or disbelieving because we are not lying. This is our reality and it is about to be yours too,” the older woman begins, brown pools drowning in my own. “Can you do that? Can you believe?”

_Yes._

And Regina hears because she nods, imperceptible but a nod all the same.

“Right. We don’t get any visitors to this town because there’s a wall around it. A barrier of some sorts- made out of magic. Many years ago, well over two decades to be precise, Storybrooke was created-“

She pauses as if to gauge my reaction. And I can’t believe I just _can’t_.  But I do. And I think it has more to do with me wanting to believe in this family.

“This town was created out of a curse, a curse that I created. Er… Henry do you have the book?”

The boy nods and drags a rather heavy looking tomb out of his bag.

_Once Upon A Time._

“This is a book of fairytales but it’s sooooo much more than that! Everything that happened in this book is real-“ Henry begins, excitedly.

“You’re doing great, Hazel,” Emma interrupts suddenly, grabbing on to my hand and squeezing it, “I had to go through this conversation many years ago and trust me I definitely did not believe at first. It took something crazy to happen before I did.”

“Mooooooom,” Henry whines, “We’re not at that bit yet. I’m telling the story!”

Emma pouts. Regina rolls her eyes. I want to run away.

But I don’t.

“Anyway, so my mom used to be the Evil Queen-“

“Emma?” I ask tentatively.

“No! My other mom, Regina. So the Evil Queen wanted to get back at Snow White-“

“Shit. You’re joking.”

“Hazel! Language,” Regina scolds whilst Emma chuckles.

“Stick with it kid.”

“They hated each other or whatever so the Evil Queen cast a curse so that everyone from fairy tale land- the Enchanted Forest- would come here, to Storybrooke.”

“My turn!” Emma grins, “This is where I come in. So basically, my parents are Snow White and Prince Charming and before the curse took over they gave birth to me and put me in a magical wardrobe to be the ‘saviour’ or something and THEN 28 years later, Henry found me- I had put him up for adoption 11 years ago- and was like, ‘Emma! You have to come to Storybrooke and break the curse,’ and I didn’t believe him until Regina tried to poison me so I kissed Henry’s head and then BOOM the curse broke. Then a whole load of other stuff happened like going to Neverland and Peter Pan and Robin Hood and blah blah blah THEN I saved Regina from becoming the Dark One and I almost turned in to the Dark One  but then-“

“Emma. Stop. You’re bewildering, Hazel.”

At this the blonde blushes furiously and allows her hair to shield her eyes in a soft willowing curtain, “I’m sorry, kid. This is all too much, right?”

The only coherent sound I can muster is, “Urgh.”

“Regina? Maybe you should have explained….”

The brunette nods and turns towards me, “All you need to know, Hazel, is that in this town we have magic. Magic is dangerous. We are under the constant threat of it and you, turning up here, scare us. Somehow, you have been able to cross the town border in to our secret home; therefore, you’re important.”

It is at this that I find my voice-broken and strangled under the weight of a million things I cannot begin to fathom, “I’m not important.”

There is a long and stifling silence that seems to replace the oxygen with a possibility of _something,_ yet it doesn’t deliver. Instead I gaze down at my half eaten grilled cheese and blink back a tear that is teetering on my waterline.

Henry breaks it. “You must be. You broke the barrier.”

“My son’s right. In fact, you’re so important that you must come with me to meet someone that might just have some answers,” Regina muses, sifting through her hair with her hand as a comb. She chews on her lip, pondering over another answer to another question that I’m drowning in.

“Do you want me to come?” Emma asks innocently, pushing her hands further in to her back pockets as if trying to find solace in the depth of the denim that adorns her slim frame. She’s nervous of the answer that will grace Regina’s lips.

I glance up at the brunette. For a moment she looks relieved as her eye lids flicker downward and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, yet in another moment she clouds over; a fickle change in the weather that does everything to dampen the hope that is swimming within the blonde’s eyes. “No. Sorry, Emma but I need you to stay with Henry.”

“I’m not a baby, Mom.”

Regina ignores his comment and struts out of the kitchen. Emma doesn’t catch my eye as I follow Henry’s other mother out of the room, but I know that there is something other than disappointment blossoming within the dregs of her eyes.

* * *

 

One thing that I have noticed throughout my time in this world is that eyes can reveal almost as much as, if not more than, expression itself. I always look to the eyes. It is the rawest pool of the human anatomy and I take great pleasure in exploring its depth. A poet may say that they are the window to one’s soul, yet I believe quite the opposite- the soul is the window to one’s eye.

I search Regina’s eyes as we march along Main Street. Attempting to match my stride with hers to glance at the older woman adjacent to me, I can finally drink in the entirety that is Regina Mills. She really is quite beautiful. There is something fresh yet haunting with in her features, as if she hasn’t quite managed to conceal the scars of a broken past. She is confusing and mysterious but nowhere can I find a trace of evil. Her gait is how one would imagine a Queen’s to be; that and a lighter almost bouncy step that I assume is not all that familiar to the woman. She is tasting her new found happiness and finds comfort within the unknown and fear within the freedom.

“I can practically _feel_ you thinking, dear,” she says languidly, tilting her head on its axis only slightly to meet me.

“Oh erm,” I blush, concocting a lie in my head out of habit before deciding on the truth, “I was just thinking about you and your story.”

“You sound like Henry,” she smiles slightly, “Always the story teller.”

“Well yes. I love to write! It… it helps when I feel lonely,” I finish lamely.

“I am all too familiar with the feeling of loneliness, Hazel. It will get better. You’ll find a family one day, as I did.”

“Like you have with Emma and Henry?”

“Emma?” Regina halts, strangely confused.

“Regina!” a third voice manifests in the form of a 30-something-year old man, eradicating any time I have to unpick Regina’s response to my insinuation regarding Emma as family.

“Robin?”

She is immediately enveloped in to a hug upon impact, and I watch as she moulds in to his embrace. Sort of moulds. There is something awkward and disjointed about the way they fit together like two puzzle pieces that you force as one in order to finish the picture as quickly as possible. Perhaps Regina is just trying to achieve happiness, even if it isn’t perfect?

“Who’s this?” A small boy with an even smaller voice pipes up from underneath Robin’s legs. He is pointing directly at me.

The couple pull apart and Regina inhales oxygen whilst Robin looks as if his has been ripped away. “Oh my…” the man breathes, running his eyes over my face, “Regina… she looks just like you.”

Regina’s expression emulates my own emotion as she takes a possessive step towards me and squints at my face.

“Its’s uncanny,” Robin continues, “She is quite literally a younger version of you!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I croak, startling Robin because, yes, the uncanny specimen can actually speak.

“Robin, dear, I’m sorry but Hazel and I are in a rush. We have some urgent business to attend,” she spits out the last sentence and I shudder slightly within my frame.

“Of course. Will I see you later for dinner?” He says it with a degree of uncertainty, as if I hold some threat to his perfect family. Perhaps I do.

“I’ll text you,” she says simply, imprinting a kiss on his stubble encrusted cheek before pulling on my hand. I watch as the pair merge in to the distance, one skipping whilst the other walks with a pain of something he doesn’t quite understand.

“Do you really think I do? Look like you, I mean…” I ask carefully, plaiting and unplaiting tiny threads of my hair.

“I think there is a fair amount of resemblance between us both, yes. Mainly our eyes. And I suppose our jaw line.”

“Cool,” I grin as we both find our step together once more.

“Cool? Why on earth is it cool?”

“Because… because you’re beautiful,” I stutter, embarrassed by my admittance but determined to say it all the same.

We walk in silence together for several minutes before approaching the door to a dusty shop. Riddled with archaic cobwebs and peculiar antiques which I can only assume come from years of unexplainable and _magical_ history, the shop window does little to appear welcoming. Regina herself seems a little tentative before pushing on the door frame and attacking the little bell as a result. Just before she slips inside she looks at me and says just as shyly, “You are too. Beautiful, I mean.”

* * *

 

_It is on the third night of the full moon that the Queen notices the beginnings of her swollen abdomen. She gently splays her fingers over the bump protectively, over her promise of a happy ending. Dappled moonlight drifts in delicacy through the window, adorning her night dress in a speckled glow as lean fingers trace ghosts of love and hope over the future of her child. She knows it will be a girl. She feels it in the excited drum of her fingertips, in her heart and in the baby itself. It is as if any haunting of revenge dies with her sorrow as she strokes the beginnings of her beautiful **beautiful** baby. Perhaps her innocence will one day rid the Queen of her scars._

_And Regina can be Regina once again._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people are sceptical of original character stories and, honestly, quite rightly so. But for this, I've made an exception. This is a story I've been desperate to write for some time... If you're confused about this chapter- that's a good thing. All be revealed very soon!

The Enchanted Forest, many years ago….

She didn’t know why she always gravitated towards the Queen- the _Evil Queen_ as Horatio was always so quick to remind her. There was something fascinating about the beautiful woman shrouded in mystery that Hazel could easily brush over the darkness that haunted her eyes, as if she were a painting that had simply been portrayed wrong.

The 12-year-old perched in the bushes gracefully. She was pretty small with skinny limbs and bony edges, all angles and a tangle of body parts that somehow seemed to work together. Long brown hair brushed her shoulders with each slight shift in her weight from foot to foot as she drank in the image in front of her: a large carriage and the woman herself standing beside an impossibly big horse.

“Do you think she’s really going to cast a curse?” the boy beside her breathed, cowering behind a large branch.

“I don’t know… maybe?”

“You’re mad, following her around everywhere. It’s a death sentence! She’ll see you one day and pop! you’ll disappear,” Horatio hissed, pivoting to face Hazel. There was something that emulated distant concern creasing his brow.

“It would be kind of brilliant though, don’t you think - if she ever did see me.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the woman, pupils widening in awe as the Queen began to bark commands at the Black Knights.

“Okay Hazel, you’ve lost it. That would  _not_ be brilliant.”

“Just coz you’re a chicken,” the girl giggled, jabbing him the ribs causing the boy to wobble on his heels and snap several branches.

“Shhhhhhhh!” A chorus erupted from both parties before suppressed laughter began to wrack their slim frames.

The pair, upon deciding that it was nearing dusk and Lucio would be worried, started to track back through the forest towards the village that they had come to call home.

“So what team are you?” Hazel asked suddenly, sliding her arm through Horatio’s and locking their limbs together in an embrace.

“Huh?”

“You know… what team?”

“Oh…. Well Team Snow White of course!”

Hazel chewed her lip, deliberating. “I don’t know… I guess I am _really_ Snow White but a part of me is for Team Regina.”

Horatio rolled his eyes, “You’re twisted.”

“Maybe,” Hazel grinned, breaking out in to a sprint as their house neared in to view.

Several minutes later, the table was laid and nine grubby children had begun devouring their chicken legs. Lucio sat at the head, like always, with his hands perched in a little arc atop of his lap as he surveyed the faces in his care.

“Garvey, don’t wipe your hands on Alana!” He sighed, clicking his fingers at the five year old whose face was lit up in mischief. Alana began to squeal as the boy attacked her arm in chicken juice, causing the other children to collapse in to giggles. Lucio growled at them to shush and, as expected, they followed- keen to impress their adoptive older brother.

“I have something important to say,” the teenager began, rising up out of seat to obtain a slightly more elevated position of authority. “Some of you may have heard rumours of a possible curse… I can now confirm that those rumours are true and that it will strike very soon.”

This last sentence elicited a wave of strangled gasps. Hazel pinched Horatio’s elbow in excitement, causing him to whimper in pain. “I told you!” she whispered, every syllable drenched in unexplainable excitement.

“But… I have a solution. This,” Lucio fumbled about in his pocket before lifting a small transparent shaped object, the size of a small bean. Funnily enough, it was a bean; as most of the children already knew, hence the myriad of exclamations in awe at the tiny, magical _thing_.

“Lucio,” a warning voice sounded from the left of the teenager, “Where did you get that?” Fawn’s voice was laced with fear, as stepped out of the shadows and in to the small pools of dappled light collecting over the table top.

Lucio shuffled and rejigged his gait, clearly embarrassed. “It doesn’t matter where I got it,” he  grumbled.

“Where will go?” Alana suddenly shrieked, evidently unable to suppress her curiosity for a moment longer.

“Camelot,” the teenager replied firmly, shooting his sister a look of defiance. “Fawn, don’t worry. I know some people that live there and it’s a perfectly safe kingdom- one where the curse definitely cannot hit.”

“And who exactly told you all this?” she hissed.

“Rumplestiltskin… I think that’s what he said his name was.”

Only one child heard his reply, the rest had subsided in to a cacophony of whispers and shrieks and cries. Hazel heard though. Yet the name didn’t appear to ring a bell.

Fawn inhaled sharply, as if trying to decipher what it was about that name that unnerved her so much. After several seconds she acquiesced and nodded sharply at her brother.

“Right,” Lucio yelled to gain attention once more, “We leave tomorrow night so say your goodbyes and gather your things and meet here tomorrow just before sun down.”

Horatio grabbed Hazel’s hand and gleamed at her, “We’re going through a portal! Can you actually believe that we’re going through a portal!?”

Hazel was beginning to develop a habit of chewing on her lip and upon hearing this sentence she chomped down rather dramatically. “What if I don’t want to go?”

“You’re mad.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“You’ll be cursed.”

“But I don’t want to leave.”

“No. You don’t want to leave _her_ ,” the boy snapped before jumping down from his seat and escaping up the stair case.

Hazel didn't move. Horatio was right. She didn't want to leave the Queen; she was far too intrigued by her to just _go_. There was no doubting it- she had some strange affinity towards the sorceress, one that she couldn't quite seem to pinpoint. The idea of being cursed excited her rather than scared her, like an adventure that was mapped around one misunderstood woman and one orphaned girl.

And she couldn't leave not knowing the end.

* * *

 

She awoke the next morning as she had done every other morning of her whole life. There was nothing unusual about it, no slight shift in the air- just Hazel, jumping down from her bunkbed to shake her mismatched family awake by tickling their toes. She adopted that job soon after joining The Stragglers. She fit right in. Horatio immediately warmed to her, both were small and found themselves generating more questions about the world that their tiny brains could fathom. Hazel was promoted to chief ‘waker-upper’ after falling off her bed and attacking the twins, Lily and Marcy. Their giggles had shaken the whole den and soon enough the whole family were shivering with the alien sound of laughter.

She wasn't quite ready to leave her brothers and sisters. But she was less ready to leave her Queen.

Horatio and Hazel walked in silence on their mission to find the breakfast berries, although their thoughts told a different story. Both children had a tiny swarm of bees attacking their brain in thought, yet no word came out until Horatio collapsed.

“You’re not coming with us, are you?” It was meant to sound angry but instead it dripped off his lips like a pathetic whimper. One that almost managed to change Hazel’s mind…

“You can stay too! We both could! It would be an adventure!”

“Camelot would be an adventure,” he whispered sadly.

“I can’t go, Horatio. I just can’t. It doesn't feel right, I have to stay.”

“She doesn't care about you! She’s not your family. She doesn't even know who you are!”

Hazel swallowed thickly and said the next line with more sincerity than she ever had in her whole existence. “She will.

* * *

 

She watched as they stood in a line beside the gaping hole. She watched as it began to eat at the ground around their feet. She watched as Horatio found her eyes and said so many things without saying them. She watched as Lucio took one last sweep of the surroundings, attempting to find the missing piece of his family yet only being met with the empty sway of trees. She watched as he jumped and the portal disappeared with him.

She watched as her happy ending was ripped away from her.

She didn’t cry. Hazel had vowed to never cry again years ago. Emotion was a dangerous weapon and she needed stability. A strange knot of excitement had begun to expand from deep within her.  Yes, she was alone, but she also had the possibility of meeting the infamous Queen that had ruled her life for so many years. News of the curse had not yet reached the peasants that scavenged along the trimmings of the Enchanted Forest, but Queen Regina’s realm was alive with fear. And Hazel could practically taste it.

Several dirtied portraits of Snow White and Prince Charming’s wedding were tacked to the large acorn trees that littered the forest, and Hazel tugged at every single one before crushing the parchment to ash. _Stupid, Princess._ She also noticed several, fresher looking posters announcing the possibility of royal baby. Hazel snorted in disgust and yanked even harder at the smiling faces of the happy couple and their future _perfect_ family. It’s all a lie, a fairy tale, she told herself as she crunched through the leaves towards the turrets of the castle.

The number of guards intensified as she neared the dark spikes of Regina’s cage. She didn’t exactly have a _plan_ of sorts, just a vague hope that her supposed cuteness would be enough to win them over.

“Where are you going, miss?” A husky voice startled her frame, emanating from behind a dark mask. She peered in to the wire mesh as if trying to find the eyes of her potential oppressor-upon only finding a black void began to panic.

“I..er…the Queen?”

“You’re not one of Snow White’s spies by any chance are you?”

“No!” she yelped pathetically.

The man laughed and lifted off his helmet, “I’m only joking, little lady.”

He had kind eyes and light stubble that peppered his chin like little flakes of blackened snow, quite the opposite to what Hazel was expecting. She managed a weak smile before continuing, “I want to see the Queen.”

This seemed to surprise the knight immensely, “The Queen? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Very well, you’re in luck. I just happen to know where she is today.”

The unlikely pair began to march up the regal bridge that connected the main gate to the peasant villages, both stiffened in something that resonated fear.

“Alright, Huntsman? Who’ve you got there?” A loud voice called from the neighbouring side.

The man laughed and pulled Hazel a little tighter toward him, “Someone that her majesty would like to see so I suggest you don’t interfere.”

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, the other knight peered closer at Hazel. “She’s just a peasant girl.”

“And you’re just a Knight,” the Huntsman sassed, steering Hazel’s frame a little faster towards the door. She didn’t understand in the slightest why he seemed to care so much for her wellbeing.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly as they walked past guard after guard after guard with little interference.

“It’s Hazel,” she whispered, her voice began to drown in the waves of nausea that threatened her body.

“Are you sure about this, Hazel? She might not want to see you,” the man tried for the second time.

“I am quite sure.”

“Alright.”

And he knocked three times on the large doors.

And then they opened.

And then they stepped inside.

And then they closed.

“Your majesty?” The Huntsman wavered, surveying her chamber with great caution.

Hazel gulped as her own eyes drank in the possessive bed in the centre and the myriad of mirrors that portrayed her pale complexion against the darkness.

“Regina?”

 They were met with silence once more.

“I’m sorry, Hazel. She must be-“

“Fine! I don’t care, I just need a carriage”

As if stupefied by the voice, both man and child barely blinked. The voice shook Hazel down to her core in both fear and absolute adoration, like an intoxicating drink that only begged for more.

The Queen sashayed in to her chamber like every bit her title suggested, only the curve of her hips implied that she was human. And Hazel could do nothing but stare. The Knight beside her had found her hand somewhere amidst the terror and together they stood awaiting their fate. He applied gentle pressure to her palm and she relaxed a fraction.

“Huntsman, what _are_ you doing in my chamber? I thought I had made it quite clear that I am too preoccupied with that insipid princess to deal with you.”

Hazel could feel the man tremor through his proliferating pulse. He gripped her hand tighter.

“I know my Queen; I am here for other… purposes.”

“Oh yes? And what on earth could that be?”

She still hadn’t turned round; instead she remained infatuated by her reflection and the lines that were hinting age on her forehead.

“Huntsman, am I looking older?” She snapped suddenly, pivoting to face the handsome man and, inevitably, the girl that was attached to his arm. “And who the hell is this?”

Hazel opened her mouth to speak, or even just to say her name but was immediately halted by an influx of dark magic that seemed to stun everyone, even the Queen, upon assimilation. Hazel had no sense of thought let alone direction as her body was thrown and engulfed in magic, only the searing eyes of a broken Queen could be seen through the haze. And she latched on to the memory as if it were her last.

…

_She can feel the baby. It is aching to escape its prison, just as much as Regina is aching to escape hers. She is her key; freedom is just a breath away and the Queen can taste its luscious sincerity. The midwife settles her hands atop of dampened shoulders and whispers a soothing melody to the shattered queen. Her crown no longer adorns her head, now she is merely a woman hungry for life._

_“That’s it, your Majesty. Keep pushing.”_

_And she does because seconds later the most delicate creature is lying on her bed covers, screaming at the world in anger and rage and revenge. Regina lifts up her daughter and presses a kiss to her raw head, “I promise I will never stop loving you.”_

_And the baby’s cries subside. An angry scrawl is eradicated by an open rose bud mouth and deep wide eyes, a chasm of possibility and unconditional love. Unconditional. The Queen strokes everything. Her little hands to her little feet to her even smaller nose, upturned towards the sun that is now crying through the balcony window and shrouding her baby in light and hope. Regina begins to sob, her own magic swirling in an intricate dance around her family. Because in that moment she anchors **everything** on her daughter. On the extraction of herself, her world; the microcosm that is her little baby girl. _

_And Regina leans in to her baby’s scent and whispers ever so delicately on to her child’s ear, “Thank you, Hazel.”_

* * *

“Hello, dearie. I see we meet again.”

The voice was a parody of laughter and fire. And it hardened Hazel’s very soul. She couldn’t see the creature, but she could feel him; breathing, his breath was coarse and ever inch as terrifying as the sound that accompanied it.

“Who are you?” she cracked, her senses still a web of the unknown, usurped by fear.

“I suppose you could call me your godfather?” the creature trilled, “I’m always looking out for you, Hazel- which is exactly why I was there to stop you before you Messed. Everything. Up.”

Her head pounded and she tried to make sense of which direction she was lying in. She felt floor. _Good_.

“I suppose I should reveal to you all the mysteries you are clearly confused by,” he growled, and she could hear him take a predatory step towards her.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he whispered, pushing his scaly complexion in to the light, “My how you’ve grown.”

“You! You gave Lucio the magic bean!” she shrieked, clawing her whole frame in the opposite direction from the hideous reptilian man.

“Oh yes, dearie, I did! And that is where you made your error. You should always listen to _family_ , Hazel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether to continue with this?

**Author's Note:**

> Large chunks of italics are bits in the past. Please do review if you want me to continue with this story! I am so enjoying writing in the first person AND having the freedom to create my own unique character. It’s so exciting.  
> Oh and please be aware, I am English so any American(y) type things I get wrong is because I have no idea oops.  
> Hope to see you soon : ) 
> 
> Please review- I'm not sure whether to continue with this story :(


End file.
